Hopping Down the Bunny Trail

Except for the year I had chicken pox, in my childhood, Easter was a happy holiday.

The day before, we would color eggs. It was an adventure with all those kids. My mom was a saint. What a  mess. But a fun mess.

The Annual Easter Photo, BP (Before Paul)

Sunday morning meant wearing a new dress and hat to church. Then coming home and hunting for (real) Easter eggs "the bunny" would hide. As we aged and the real identity of the bunny (or, bunnies) was revealed, my older siblings would advise them when it was time to drop hints because the younger hunters still hadn't found two of the eggs and were losing interest. My parents did not want to leave the errant eggs unfound, to be discovered days or weeks later when the overpowering odor gave them away.

Then there was the Easter basket.

As with all things, my mom was excruciatingly fair. We each got a chocolate bunny, a certain number of chocolate eggs, etc. I would not be surprised if she counted the jelly beans. (I don't think we ever bothered to compare that closely, but now I'm curious.)

At some point in time, my mom stopped taking the annual photograph in the back yard. We would stand at attention in our finery right after church (the Easter clothes had be changed immediately afterward). My mom read somewhere that you should have the sun behind you when taking a picture, so we would squint gamely into the sunshine, trying not to burn our retinas, while she encouraged us to smile.

Later, with the eggs back in the cartons and secured in the fridge, destined for lunchboxes, we would nosh on chocolate until my mom held a cease fire. At around noon, we would gather to feast on ham. (I think it was ham.) And all the fixings. Then it became a typical Sunday afternoon. Then a typical Sunday evening, except with The 10 Commandments.

And we didn't have to go to school the following week.

This year, my kid will be doing his Joey Donuts thing on Easter Sunday, and, albeit with chocolate, it will be a pretty normal Sunday.

But I'm thinking of putting on a little Mitch Miller. And taking a turn around the coffee table. Just for old time's sake. (Care to join me, Paul?)

Happy Easter, everyone!